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Six large interests Armour, Swift, Morris, the National Packing Company, Cudahy, and Schwarzschild and Sulzberger had so concentrated the packing business that, by 1905, they slaughtered practically all the cattle shipped to Western centers and furnished most of the beef consumed in the large cities east of Pittsburgh.
They could not see his face as he stood so directly below them, only his rich cap and feather, and his strong figure beneath. Mr. Morris was waiting now by his master's horse; the portress was by her door. As they looked the little black and white figure of the Abbess came out beneath them, and stood by the portress. The packing went on in silence.
"I did," Morris said genially, "and he thought it would make a big hit in the trade." "Why, when did you seen it, Kleebaum?" Abe asked. "This morning on my way over to Lenox Avenue.
"Still," said I, resuming the subject, "allowing the force of the reasons which Campbell might have for desiring that Morris should be silent with regard to his promise when the robbery was committed, I cannot yet see how he could attain such an influence over the man, as to make him suppress his evidence in that particular, at the manifest risk of subjecting his story to discredit."
"You must be having very pleasant thoughts, Mr. Morris," said Miss Earle, as she appeared with a bright shawl thrown over her shoulders, instead of the long cloak that had encased her before, and with a Tam o' Shanter set jauntily on her black, curly hair. "You are right," said Morris, taking off his cap, "I was thinking of you."
"Does he deposit his money with Feder?" Morris asked. "Yow, he deposit his money with Feder, Mawruss!" Abe replied. "He deposits his money with a banker by the name Guy-seppy Scratch-oly." "Guy-seppy Scratch-oly," Morris repeated. "That's a fine name for a banker, Abe." "Guy-seppy, that's Italian for Yosef, Mawruss," Abe explained.
To the vulgar, these seem never the same; but to the expert, the bank clerk, or the lithographer, they are constant quantities, and as recognisable as the North Star to the night-watch on deck. To all this Morris was alive. In the theory of that graceful art in which he was now embarking, our spirited leather-merchant was beyond all reproach.
She found at once that talking to him was the easiest thing in the world. Mr. Morris did not say very much; he smiled gently, and when Miss Burnett, awaking suddenly from her torpor, said, "You'll have some tea, Miss Brandon, won't you?" he, smiling, softly repeated the invitation. "Thank you," said Joan. "I will.
An omnibus, emblazoned with strange pictures, went tumbling over the dislocated cobble-stones. "How will you go home?" Morris asked, following this vehicle with an interested eye. Mrs. Penniman had taken his arm. She hesitated a moment. "I think this manner would be pleasant," she said; and she continued to let him feel the value of his support.
Bee and I are off to the Manor special invitation letter I lent it to Mrs. Morris. Oh, yes, to dinner. I have my best cap in this band-box. What do you say? You'll look in to-morrow glad to see you. Drive on, Davis." "Really, mother, if you stop to speak to every one we won't get to the Manor to-night," gently expostulated Beatrice.
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